


A good life

by Akikofuma



Series: Witcher Prompts [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Capable!Jaskier, Feels, Fluff, Injured!Geralt, Jaskier focused, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Pining, Prompt Fic, i wrote this when i should have been sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27430969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akikofuma/pseuds/Akikofuma
Summary: Jaskier no longer cried when thinking of Geralt. The first few weeks, he’d sobbed himself to sleep. Eventually, his tears had run dry, all the sadness drained, leaving little else behind but anger.That anger had stayed with him, as he headed towards the coast. Fuck Geralt. Jaskier was determined to find out what pleased him, and he didn’t need that cantankerous bastard at his side to do it. He’d go to the coast alone; hoping to find a new purpose there. A new life.One that very firmly did not involve Geralt of fucking Rivia.Or: Jaskier builds a life for himself after Geralt sent him away; only for Geralt to seek him out when he'd finally accepted his fate._______________Another wonderful prompt by the amazing @doberainbow!"Jaskier does moves to the coast after the mountain and lives a happy, quiet life but still misses his witcher very much. then Geralt shows up a few months later, bloodied, hurt and apologises from the brunet for being an absolute arse :D"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955077
Comments: 40
Kudos: 357





	A good life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doberainbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doberainbow/gifts).



> This.. did not at all turn out how I expected it to. I stand by it tho. 
> 
> Have a prompt you'd like me to write? Leave your idea in the comments! I can't promise I'll pick it up, or how quickly I'll write it, but it never hurts to ask ;P

“ _Right, uh. Right, then. I’ll.. I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others. See you around, Geralt.”_

Grabbing his lute from the ground, Jaskier walked away. Stubbornly blinking away the tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks.

Somewhere, deep down, even after everything Geralt had said.. a small part of the bard was hoping he’d be followed. That the Witcher would catch up with him, with a frown on his face as he awkwardly tried to set things right between them.

Maybe even _apologize_.

The urge to turn around and check, to see if he meant anything at all to Geralt, ate away at him the entire walk down the mountain. Jaskier didn’t give in to it. Refused it as much as he’d refuse to drink a bottle of poison. Wouldn’t give the Witcher the satisfaction, should Geralt be wandering behind him with silent steps, to see how much Jaskier wanted him to be there.

He made it back to the tavern in record time; allowing himself no sleep, no food. Just a few sips of water whenever the lump in his throat became too large to swallow around, constricting his throat. Bringing more tears to his eyes he adamantly refused to shed.

He’d taken years of Geralts abuse. The insults, the mockery, the growls and snarls. Had woken up alone, abandoned by the Witcher, more times than he could count. Each one chipping away at his heart like a chisel at stone. Except instead of a beautiful sculpture, all that was left behind was dust.

He’d finally been pushed too far. Geralt would get his wish.

So intent was Jaskier to avoid the white wolf, he didn’t dare to stay the night in the quaint little village he’d thought quite beautiful before.

As he walked away, all he could see was gray.

* * *

What people had long forgotten before he’d become the White Wolfs bard, is that Jaskier had gotten by just fine without Geralt.

Sure, he’d done more running in those times without a grumpy Witcher to hide behind, but then, that had been before he’d lost his heart to him. Most of the running had been to avoid angry spouses, or parents. Now, with no desire to bed anyone, there was no need to escape.

He was welcomed in most inns and taverns now; people desperate for some entertainment and joy before war fell upon them as well. Knowing that hard times lay ahead. Jaskier did his best to distract them from their worries, and while coin wasn’t plenty, he was often offered a meal and a place to sleep instead.

It was an odd thing, to be so thoroughly appreciated when, for so long, he’d been the companion of a grumpy git. It startled him to his core to realize, so suddenly, that things had changed. Where in the past, he would have soaked up the adoration, bathed himself in their praise and admiration, now..

Well. It still felt _nice_.

But it wasn’t the same as before. Instead of a tumble in bed, all Jaskier cared for was a warm meal and a bed to sleep in. Perhaps a bath, if he could afford it. The fame he’d craved, the silks and the gems, beautiful men and women to share his bed with- it had all disappeared.

“Of course.” Jaskier grumbled to himself, put off by the revelation. “Trust Geralt to mess that up for me too.”

Jaskier no longer cried when thinking of Geralt. The first few weeks, he’d sobbed himself to sleep. Eventually, his tears had run dry, all the sadness drained, leaving little else behind but anger.

That anger had stayed with him, as he headed towards the coast. Fuck Geralt. Jaskier was determined to find out what pleased him, and he didn’t need that cantankerous bastard at his side to do it. He’d go to the coast alone; hoping to find a new purpose there. A new life.

One that very firmly did _not_ involve Geralt of fucking Rivia.

* * *

“An ale please.” Jaskier smiled as he sat at the bar, exhausted from the days travel, yet still in good spirits. He’d finally made it. Months of traveling, of evading bandits and armies; of going hungry and sleeping under the stars in between villages, he could finally lay eyes upon the ocean again.

_Take that, Witcher_. He thought, filled with glee. _I made it on my own._

The barmaid quirked a brow at him, probably taking in his disheveled hair, the dirt sticking to his face and neck, mixed with sweat. He likely looked a mess, and smelled worse. But coin was coin, it seemed. Jaskier handed it over, and was given a mug of ale in return.

“You a bard?” The woman asked, nodding towards his lute.

“I am indeed, my lady!” He replied, eager for a chance to earn some coin. He desperately needed a bath, and a bed to rest his legs wouldn’t go amiss either. It meant performing, which would keep him on his legs for longer, but he could do it. 

“You any good?” She looked skeptic, brows furrowed. Now that Jaskier took the time to look at her closely, he had to admit she was quite pretty. Brown hair, tied back and braided. Round, hazel colored eyes. A bit heavier, but he’d never minded that. Soft curves, warm and easy to hold on to.. she was attractive. 

“I’d like to think so.” He replied, taking hold of his lute. “Perhaps I can sing you a song, prove to you I’m worthy of your lovely establishment?” 

The woman pursed her lips, taking him in once more before shrugging. 

“Can’t hurt. Go on then, bard. Sing your song.” 

Jaskier paused, considering for a second, before he nodded. Quickly taking a sip of his ale before he stood and began. 

“ _O’er glistening roofs you float_

_Through lily-strewn rivers you dive_

_Yet one day I will know your truths_

_If only I am still alive.._ ” 

He sang with his eyes closed, felt every word roll over his tongue and pass his lips; he might no longer crave fame, but singing? Singing would always be his first love. Would always bring him happiness, when all else failed. 

“You’re decent.” The barmaid said once he’d finished. “You have a name?” 

“Julian.” He replied without missing a beat. He’d abandoned his chosen name weeks ago. Just in case Geralt did come looking, as ridiculous as it felt to even consider it. Just in case.

“You can play, Julian. We’ll give you a hot supper.” 

“Ah, I was hoping, my lady-”

“I ain’t no lady.” She gave an irritated huff, glaring at him as she poured more ale for another patron. “My name is Saskia.”

“What a lovely name!” Jaskier replied, still smiling. She had fire, this one, and he found he quite enjoyed it. “Saskia then. I was hoping to come to an arrangement for a room, music brings in more people, that buy more drinks-”

“Don’t have a room, bard.” She cut in, shrugging. “People are fleein’ the war, runnin’ wherever they can. We’ve got nothin’ left.”

At that, Jaskier deflated. He’d really hoped for a bed tonight. Alas, there was nothing he could do. 

“Perhaps there would be room for me in the stables then? I don’t mean to be a pest, its just that I’ve traveled far in the last few weeks, and a night spent somewhere warm and dry would be wonderful.” 

“..There’s someplace I can take you.” She said, after a while of silence, once again scrutinizing the man before her. “When I’m done working. Its not much, but its dry and warm.”

It was a somewhat dubious offer, admittedly. But then, when had he ever made good decisions in his life? He’d followed Geralt for the better part of two decades after all.

“I’m not picky, my l- _Saskia_. Anything will do.” 

“Good. I’ll get your food before you sing.” 

With that, she wandered off, leaving the bard nothing to do but sit and drink his ale until she returned. 

* * *

“Not much” turned out to be a small room in Saskias own home. She was welcomed by a husband and two little boys, immediately wrapping their short, chubby arms around her hips, overjoyed to see their mother home.

Jaskier had never been good with children, standing awkwardly in the door as the resolute woman scooped both toddlers up as if they weighed nothing at all, kissing her husbands cheek. 

“I’ve brought a guest.” She said, nodding towards Jaskier. “This is Julian. Say hello, boys.”

“Hello!” They both crowed, waving their hands at him. They were maybe 4 years old, both with a mop of dark brown hair they’d clearly inherited from their father, while sharing their mothers eye color. 

“Why hello! Its a pleasure to meet you!” He took a step forward, glancing at the man that towered behind his family. A full beard adorned his face, rugged, yet handsome. The kind of face that showed signs of a hard life, and looked all the better for it. He’d feared to see apprehension in those hardened features, but there was nothing but calm. 

“This one is Jochim.” Saskia said, nuzzling one of the boys that giggled in response. “This one is Ryck. And my husband, Achim.” 

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” Jaskier said. “I’m grateful.” 

Gods, his feet aches. His legs burned with the effort of keeping himself upright. As lovely a family as they were, he hoped he’d be able to slink off to sleep soon.

“I’ll get the boys ready for bed. Can you take him to the room?” Jaskier watched as Achim nodded, moving forward with a small smile. 

“You look like you’ve been on the road for a while, Julian. A good nights rest will fix you right up. Hope you won’t mind the noise, the boys can be a bit wild.” Achim lead him to a side door, revealing the room just large enough to have a bed, a small fireplace, and a small wooden table. Wood was stacked beside the fireplace, just waiting to be lit. “I’ll bring in some water if you’d like to wash.” 

“That would be wonderful.” Just the idea of getting some of the grime off himself was heavenly. “I can pay-”

“None sense.” Achim waved him off. “Saskia didn’t ask for coin, so neither will I. I’m sure you’ve earned your keep for the night.” 

Jaskier wanted to protest, to offer at least  _some_ coin. The cottage was nice, but like so many before it, Jaskier could see that the family was by no means well off. Between the war, and the fast approaching winter, no one but perhaps nobility were doing well. Before he could speak again, Achim patted him on the shoulder.

“I’ll get you that water. Don’t worry about payment, not tonight. We can come to an agreement if you decide to stay longer.” 

* * *

Some time later found Jaskier relatively clean, tucked into bed; the fire crackling merrily in its hearth, quickly heating the small space. Oh, it was lovely, to finally rest on something other than hard ground. To be able to fall asleep surrounded by sturdy walls, not having to worry about wild animals and monsters. 

But even with heavy limbs, drowsy and warm, Jaskier couldn’t help but think back to that cursed day on the mountain. Wondering where Geralt had went, how he was doing. Had he chased after Yennefer, or perhaps made his way towards Kaer Morhen for the winter early? 

No matter how angry he was at the man, he couldn’t help but worry. It was pathetic, really, how much he still cared. Geralt had made himself perfectly clear that day. Jaskier was the very bane of his existence. The Witcher was probably celebrating every day he went without him.

So why, the bard wondered as he slipped into sleep, could he not stop loving him?

* * *

Jaskier woke to hushed giggles, and a tiny hand poking his cheek. 

“He snores.” “Really loud!”

He wanted to groan and roll over. However late it was, it was much too early to be awake. His muscles still ached, his feet sore. Just a few more hours, he wanted to beg, just let me sleep little longer. 

“Boys!” Someone hissed. “Out, don’t wake him-”

Jaskier inhaled deeply, and pried open his eyes. 

“Its alright.” Sitting up, he glanced at the children with a fond smile. “Good morning, Jochim. Good morning Ryck.”

“Good morning!” The boys replied in unison, their cute little faces spread wide in a smile. “You snore!”

“Jochim!” Saskia scolded, scooping the boys up into her arms as she had the night before. “I’m sorry Julian.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize.” He replied, his own smile growing wider. “I do snore quite loudly. My traveling companion often complained about it. In fact, some nights, he stuffed cloth into his ears just to sleep!” 

Talking about his time with Geralt stung, but the boys rewarded him with more giggling, well worth the pain.

“I left you a plate of breakfast.” Saskia said, gently setting her children back onto the ground as she spoke. “Go find your father, have him take you to Nan.”

The boys ran off with squeals quite loud for such small beings.

“I’ll pay for the food. If you’d just allow me a moment to dress and wash, I’ll be right out.”

“Keep your coin, bard. For now at least. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you. Once you’re dressed.”

* * *

“Sit and eat, Julian.” Saskia instructed, placing a mug beside the plate she’d left for him. Its contents was steaming, smelling of herbs and a bit of milk. Bread and a hunk of cheese made up the meal. “To warm you up.”

“Thank you. You’re too kind to me, let me at least pay you, please.” 

“I don’t want your money.” She replied evenly, sitting down beside him. “But I do have an offer I’d like to make you.” 

“I’m all ears.” 

“As you know, war is coming.” She started, giving a deep sigh. “Winter will follow at its heels. Hard times are ahead of us.” 

“It would seem so.” Jaskier nodded his head, giving a sigh of his own. Hard times indeed.

“You look like a capable young man.” She continued. “Anyone who travels alone for as long as your looks suggest knows how to take care of themselves. You’d be dead otherwise. And from last night, you seem a hard worker. Your legs were shaking towards the end of your performance, yet you kept going.” 

“Just making sure you got your moneys worth.” Jaskier interjected quickly. “You were kind to me when you had no reason to be. It was nothing.”

“It was more than most traveling bards would have done; I’ve met quite a few in my time. Drink, before it gets cold.” 

Jaskier obeyed, and took a sip. The warmth traveled down his throat and settled deep in his belly. He gave a delighted little sigh.

“Achim and I, we’d like you to stay. You could perform at the inn in the evenings, but you’d be expected to help work the fields with Achim. The harvest starts in a few days, and I’ll be working the inn. A strong pair of hands could make all the difference. And during the winter, you’d help out in whatever way you can. My mother takes care of the boys, but she’s old and they’re starting to become too much for her. It would help a lot if we had someone to help her, too.

I n return we’d offer you a cottage of your own, food, whatever else you need. Within reason. You’ll need new boots, winter clothes. We’d provide them for you. Come spring, you could travel again, if you liked.  Or you could stay. ” 

For a moment, Jaskier didn’t know what to say. His mouth half open as he stared at his host, blinking like an idiot. 

Why, why would someone that just met him offer him a place to stay? Even in exchange for hard work, he was a stranger to this family. There was no way to know if he’d keep his end of the bargain, or simply stay long enough to fill the pockets of his winter clothes with food before running off. Maybe kill them in their sleep, take everything they had. Many bad men walked this earth.

“I- Saskia. That’s- you’re too kind, really, I- find myself at a loss of words.” He stammered weakly, overwhelmed by the show of kindness and trust he surely didn’t earn. 

“Not an ideal state for a bard.” She mused, startling a laugh out of him with her wit. “Is that a yes, then?” 

Jaskier smiled. 

“Yes. I would love to stay here. Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet. Bringing in the harvest is hard work. You’ll be thanking the gods the day its over. Eat your food, then I’ll show you to your new home.” 

* * *

The cottage was smaller than the one he’d spent the night in. The main room held a table, a stove, a hearth, and a few makeshift chairs to go around it. Two shelves stood against the far wall, beside a door that lead to the bedroom. Not a speck of dust could be found, the hearth having recently been cleaned and cleared of any left over ashes. Saskia had clearly cleaned before he’d woken up. The bedroom was much the same as the one at her own home; a bed, a small table, and an empty basin. 

“Its perfect.” Jaskier breathed, grinning as he spun around to take in the place he would call home, at least until spring. He didn’t know how long he’d remain here; had spent so many years traveling, he wasn’t sure if settling down would ever feel natural to him. Saskia returned his smile, clearly pleased with his reaction.

“We’ll get new blankets for the beds, the ones there are still from Mikkel. The well is right behind our home, you can get yourself water whenever you like.” 

“There’s no need, I’m sure they’re fine.” Jaskier quickly replied, moving towards the bed, running his fingers along the worn fabric. They were a bit thin, but they’d do. 

“Don’t be stubborn, it’ll get colder before you know it. Even a fire won’t keep you warm without proper blankets. Consider it a welcoming gift.” 

Jaskier quickly learned that arguing with Saskia got him nowhere. That night, he fell asleep in his very own bed, with a brand new, thick blanket keeping hi m warm.

* * *

As predicted, bringing in the harvest was hell. Jaskier woke early in the morning, ate with Achim and Saskia while the boys still slept soundly in their bed, then made out for the fields. 

His body had never ached as much in his life. From the tips of his toes to the top of his head, everything  _hurt_ . Achim would often tease him on the way home, when Jaskier could do little else but stay awake long enough to eat before flopping into bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow. 

It was grueling work, yes; yet Jaskier still savored it. Keeping his hands and mind busy with work seemed to be the only thing that kept him from thinking about Geralt. The exhaustion kept the dreams of the Witcher away during the night. He could forget how much his heart still ached for the White wolf, the anxiety he felt at not knowing what had happened to the man. 

Over time, he’d become incredibly fond of the family that had taken him in. Even when he was dead tired, he never turned down an invitation to play with the boys, or sing a song for Nan. The ease with which he integrated into their live almost too good to be true. The rest of the villagers soon took to him as well, welcoming him into the fold with just as much warmth as Saskia and Achim. 

Some morning, he’d wondered what he did to deserve such a kind fate. A roof over his head, food in his stomach, surrounded by people that enjoyed his company, his songs. 

Life was  _good_ . 

* * *

Winter came, as it always did. Cruelly, harshly, grabbing hold of the country in its icy fangs with no intention of letting go before spring forced it to. Snow clung heavy to the ground and trees, leaving them all shivering wherever they went.

He spent most of his days at the inn now, helping Saskia tend to the travelers, making up rooms or pouring ale. He’d sing in the evenings, and though it often earned him little to none, he didn’t stop. It wasn’t about money. His songs brought the people around him joy, kept them just a little warmer in the dark winter eves. Achim had taken to hunting, as he did every winter, Jaskier learne d; bringing home deer or rabbit, whatever he could find, to either be sold or eaten. 

Times were rough, but none of them went hungry, least of all the children. 

Jaskier couldn’t believe how quickly they grew, in just a few months. When Saskia didn’t need him in the evenings, and Nan and Achim were tired, Jaskier would often take over putting the boys to bed. Told them stories about his adventures as they wiggled in their beds, their big eyes glued to him as he spoke of mermen and werewolves, of water hags and dragons;  leaving out any gruesome details and changing the endings to happy ones when need be.

Not once did he say the Witchers name. 

As much as he appreciate the reprieve from the harrowing days of harvest, the constant pain in his muscles, winter left him with too much time to think. Every night he recalled their time together to tell another story, his heart felt heavier. The memories, the love he still carried within for the man- it weighed him down. The anger had lessened, though it hadn’t disappeared. Merely made room for a longing Jaskier knew all too well, and stubbornly ignored. 

He would  _not_ go looking for Geralt. Not now, not in spring, not ever again. The Witcher had never treated him right, had never shown a sign of actually  _wanting_ Jaskier around. Geralt had been relieved after the djinn, to find Jaskier alive. It was a far cry from caring enough about the bard to keep him close. 

So no, no matter how much he yearned to see the Witchers face, he would stay exactly where he was, even when winter ended. He’d found himself a new, good life. 

He wouldn’t throw that away, not for anyone. 

* * *

“Play a song for me, Julian.” Nan requested one night. The boys were in bed, asleep; Saskia had invited him to stay for a bit longer, to spend the evening with them. Jaskier had not refused. 

“Of course, Nan. Which would you like to hear?” He asked, hauling his lute closer to himself. “How about “The Hunters Wife”? You like that one.” 

Nan shook her head, her eyes unusually piercing as she gazed upon him. Her white hair neatly held out of her face by a braid she’d taught the bard to do not long ago. 

“The one that’s in your heart, sweet boy. Its holding you down. Let it free, before it crushes you.”

Jaskier hesitated. The song that was in his heart.. Swallowing heavily, he steeled himself against the pain he knew he’d feel. He’d started writing the song before they’d gone on the dragon hunt, but oh, how relevant it had become after. Without wanting to, he had finished it; the words, the melody- playing in his head when he was alone. 

Sensing the tension suddenly in the air, Saskia and Achim fell quiet. Waited patiently until he was ready. A shuddering exhale, and Jaskier positioned his fingers on his lute.

_Here goes nothing._

“ _The fairer sex they often call it,_

_But her love’s as unfair as a crook,_

_It steals all my reason,_

_Commits every treason,_

_Of logic with naught but a look._ ”

His voice wavered, but he kept doing. His eyes grew wet with tears, hotly trailing over his cheeks. For once, he didn’t care. Felt no shame for how he felt. Poured his pain, his longing, everything he was and would ever be, into his song.

“ _A storm raging on the horizon,_

_Of longing, and heartache, and lust,_

_She’s always bad news,_

_It’s always lose/lose,_

_So tell me, love, tell me, love,_

_But how is that just?_ ”

His fingers trembled so hard, he could barely keep playing, but he couldn’t stop. Not now, when he’d finally, _finally_ allowed them to escape. With each word that left his lips, his burden seemed to lighten.

“ _But the story is this_

_she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss,_

_her sweet kiss,_

_but the story is this,_

_she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss._

_Her current is pulling you closer,_

_a charge in the hot, humid night,_

_the red sky at dawn is giving a warning,_

_you fool, better stay out of sight._ ”

Gods, he hated Geralt. Hated him for what he had done, for the words he had spoken, for the years of pain and humiliation, the decades of being loyal to him, of _loving_ him; only to be tossed out onto the street like a dog its owner no longer wanted. So why couldn’t he stop pining for him?

“ _I’m weak, my love,_

_and I am wanting,_

_if this is the path I must trudge,_

_I’ll welcome my sentence,_

_give to you my penance,_

_Garroter, jury and judge._

_But the story is this_

_she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss,_

_her sweet kiss,_

_but the story is this,_

_she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss.”_

Finally, his voice broke. He dropped his lute, letting it fall to the ground. His chest ached, and he choked on the air he breathed. More tears came, a never ending stream as he sobbed. He had to get a hold on himself, had to stop blubbering like a child, gods, he’d wake the boys-

A warm, wrinkled hand came to rest on his head. Saskia wrapped her arms around him in a hug so tight, it bordered on painful. 

“He didn’t deserve you.” Nan hummed quietly. Jaskier froze. How had she known what, _who_ that song had really been about? Panic surged in him, surely Achim wouldn’t allow this in his home, a degenerate around his children, he’d just lost everything-

“If he ever comes here.” Achim spoke up. “Send him my way, Julian. I’ll take care of him.”

Jaskier, slightly hysterically, laughed as a fresh wave of tears spilled from his eyes. 

“ _Thank you_.” He whispered. They weren’t kicking him out. They weren’t disgusted by him, by the fact that he loved another man. “Thank you. I can never repay your kindness.”

“You don't repay a family for love, sweet boy.” Nan smiled. “We love you for you. Dry your eyes now, and get some sleep.”

* * *

Winter was in full swing as war ravaged the land. Every day brought news of battles, of Nilfgaard inching forward. Whispers about a princess having found her destiny. Jaskier did his best to ignore it all. Singing his song had been cathartic, left him feeling lighter than he had in years. 

He saw no need to disturb this newfound peace of mind with the horrors of war. 

Their village remained largely untouched. Bandits came through once or twice, only to be chased of by the resolute men and women that lived here. Jaskier had learned a few things patching Geralt up, and quickly pitched in when the need arose. 

Aside of those incidents, they lived a quiet, humble life. Every day, they all worked hard; whether it be tending to guests at the inn, or working around the house and grounds.  No one here would ever be rich, at least not with coin, but they all got by. In the evening, his family would find together at the inn, and eat dinner together, a ritual Jaskier greatly enjoyed. Nothing was quite as rewarding after a long day of work as seeing Jochim and Ryck, happy and lively, with their bellies full of good food. 

Dreams of Geralt had become rare. Jaskier still thought of him, from time to time, but he remembered the good times now, rather than the bad. He even felt sympathy for the Witcher, who had been powerless to give his heart away to someone who simply didn’t want it. The bard himself had done the same. 

Winter bled into spring. When he’d informed everyone that he had decided to stay, they’d been overjoyed. Ryck and Jochim had wrapped themselves around his legs, crowing and squealing with joy. Saskia and Achim had both hugged him close. Nan had lovingly patted his cheek. And Jaskier felt whole.

Spring passed in a flurry, every day filled from sun up to sun down. Jaskier helped work the fields, provided music, thanking the gods each night before sleep for his good fortune. 

Spring became summer, and before he knew it, turned into fall. 

He’d been here an entire year. The longest he’d stayed in one place since he’d left the Academy to set out and become a bard. A year full of good memories he knew he’d treasure until the day he died.  Finally, it seemed, his heart had settled. Still overflowing with love for the Witcher, but accustomed to yearning. 

Geralt would never be his; yet life would still be good. 

* * *

“Julian!” The shriek came from Jochim, immediately commanding all of the bards attention. He’d been at home, getting ready to perform at the tavern. Dropping his lute he sprinted out the door, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. Had Nan fallen? She was showing real signs of her age now, and oh, why had he gone home-

The sight he was greeted with as he reached the cottage stopped him in his tracks. 

There stood nan, right in the door, with the boys clutching her skirt, tears in their round eyes. 

There knelt Geralt, breathing heavily, the tip of his sword stuck into the ground to stop the Witcher from collapsing, covered in blood. His heart missed a beat. 

_Geralt_ .

He rushed forward, knelt beside the injured man, brushing white strands of hair back so he could see the Witchers face. His eyes were much just the same molten gold, hazy with pain. His lips were parted, showing off the fangs Geralt had formerly filed down. 

“ _Jaskier_..” Geralt croaked, suddenly tipping to the side, colliding with the bards chest. “Jaskier.”

“I’m here, Geralt.” Jaskier whispered, trying, failing to keep his voice steady. “I’m here, you’re alright. Nan, where’s Achim?” 

“I’m here.” Achim appeared behind them, panting lightly. “Heard Jochim cry, what’s wrong-”

“Help me get him up!” Jaskier said, struggling to his feet while trying to keep the Witcher from crumbling. “Where’s Roach, Geralt?” 

Together, they hefted Geralt up, forced to take the Witchers not inconsiderable weight between them as they dragged him inside. He got no reply.

“Focus Geralt.” Jaskier pleaded as they laid Geralt onto the table, clasping that pale face between his hands. “Roach, Geralt. Where did you leave her?” 

“’s outside.” Geralt slurred, eyes drooping. How he had missed the brown mare Jaskier didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. 

“His saddlebags, Achim, get them.” The bards hands shook as they started undoing the clasps on Geralts armor, dropping them carelessly onto the floor as he went. It was torn open in many places, where whatever monster had ripped into them. Geralt was bleeding, more than Jaskier had ever witnessed before. The red fluids quickly coating him from hands to elbows as he worked. 

The second Achim brought the saddle bags, Jaskier barked instructions at him. 

“The red vial. No, the one with the _long_ neck, yes. Help him drink. Nan, I need bandages, as many as we have, hot water, a needle- Geralt, stop!”

The Witchers hand had shot up, grabbing Achim’s arm as he tried to lift the Witchers head. Achim, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. 

“Geralt, look at me.” Golden eyes moved sluggishly, unfocused, but eventually landed on he bards face. “We’re here to help. He’s giving you swallow. Try to drink, Geralt, _please_.” 

A second later, Geralt released his hold, arm dropping heavily onto the table. Jaskier very badly wanted to vomit.  He had to keep it together, just a little longer. Geralt drained the potion, giving a wet cough, but kept it down. 

Jaskier, not minding the blood that covered his hands, dug back into the satchels. Geralt had to have prepared- yes, there it was. Another swallow, and a white honey potion.  He hoped they wouldn’t be needed, but they were good to have all the same. Next he pulled out the thin yarn Geralt always carried, in case he needed to be stitched up. Jaskier set to work.

Cleaned the wounds, checked them for teeth or fangs that sometimes stuck inside flesh, then stitched the ones bad enough to need it. Didn’t say a single word, no matter who spoke to him; even when Geralt called out for him. He simply squeezed the Witchers hand before continuing his work. 

Saskia, at some point, had joined them. She worked alongside Jaskier, cleaning Geralts skin with a strip of cloth and hot water. Under different circumstances, Geralt surely would have refused the attention he was receiving. It only served to show just how gravely injured he was, the way he simply took it, without a single sound of complaint. 

“You need to live.” Jaskier breathed, once he was done, grabbing the Witchers face, uncaring of the drying blood he smeared on pale cheeks. “You hear me, you dumb brute? You have to. Roach needs you.” 

_I need you._

“Jaskier.” Geralt breathed, weakly reaching up to drop his hand on the bards back. His eyes fell shut. He slept.

* * *

Jaskier had stumbled out of the cottage just in time to empty his stomach onto the dirt. It was all too much. Seeing Geralt again, so hurt. Being covered in the Witchers blood. The painful thrumming of his heart as it fluttered with fear.

“Julian.” Saskia stood beside him, offering him a mug of water. Grateful, he nodded his thanks, washing out his mouth.

“Sorry.” He whispered. “I’m sorry. Are the boys alright? They must be terrified. And all the blood, gods, I’ll- give me a moment, I’ll clean-”

“Stop.”

Jaskier stopped.

“We can help get him to your cottage, if you want. Or he can stay with us.”

S wallowing around the lump in his throat, Jaskier steadied himself, inhaled and exhaled deeply. 

“He can stay with me. I’ll clean the blood once he’s settled. No, don’t argue. I brought him inside. I’ll have Achim help me carry him.” 

* * *

Geralt wouldn’t wake for two days. 

Jaskier stayed by his side. Any protest at leaving Achim to work alone was ignored. 

“You’ll be distracted the entire time you’re away from him.” The older man said, gently squeezing his shoulder. “Stay. Its where you should be.”

So Jaskier remained at the Witchers side. Washed the sweat off his skin, checked his wounds. Geralt had, thankfully, not required another potion; had started healing on his own not long after they’d laid him to rest on the bards bed. Jaskier had almost passed out then. 

Geralt was going to be alright. 

He burned with fever, a side effect of his healing, as Jaskier had learned early on in their travels together. His body kicked into overdrive as it worked to repair itself. All Jaskier could do was wait. Two days felt like two weeks to the bard, finding little to no sleep during the night. Constantly on edge, straining to hear any distressed sound, any grunt of discomfort. 

How had this happened? Why was Geralt here? How had he gotten so hurt?

Question after Question, swarming Jaskiers mind, keeping him awake. He likely wouldn’t sleep until Geralt woke. 

Then, finally, those golden eyes opened. 

Jaskier was at the bed a split second after he heard Geralt call his name, leaning over the Witcher to take in his face. 

“You’re awake.” He breathed. “You’re alive.”

“Seems so.” Geralt replied quietly, voice rough. Jaskiers lips quivered. 

“..You _idiot_.” Before he could stop himself, Jaskiers palm connected with the Witchers cheek. The slap rang loud in the empty room, seemed to bounce of the walls. “What the fuck were you _doing_?” 

Geralt, seemingly not surprised by the sudden attack on his person, sighed. 

“I was looking for you.”

“ _Why_?” Jaskier demanded, voice shaking. “You wanted me gone, and I left! What the hell were you doing looking for me after sending me away?!”

“I was wrong to do that.” Geralt growled, slowly sitting up with a grunt. “I came to- apologize.” 

“By bleeding all over my doorstep?” The bard squawked, distraught. 

“No.” Geralt huffed. “Ran into a leshen on my way here. Cut through the woods, thought I’d be quicker.. Wasn’t sure I’d make it here.”

“Barely. You _barely_ made it here, Geralt.” Jaskier couldn’t stop the tears any longer, wiping them away as soon as they hit his cheek, sniffling. “You had your potions, why didn’t you take them?”

“..Didn’t want to come into town looking like- I do. Most people don’t take to a Witcher kindly in the first place. You know what I look like when- I didn’t want to risk changing their perception of you. Knowing a monster.” 

“Gods above, Geralt, you must have been dropped on your head as a child.” Jaskier hiccuped; his skin turning red and sore from where he kept rubbing away tears. 

“Hit my head a lot fighting beasts.” Geralt replied. “You’re right. Should’ve taken the potions and waited it out.”

“So why didn’t you?” 

At this, Geralt frowned, averted his gaze. Jaskier wanted to scream in frustration. Any second, Geralt would “hmm” to avoid giving an answer, like he always did when he was uncomfortable-

“Needed to get to you.” The words came out hushed, barely above a whisper. Jaskier needed a minute to process the implications. 

“You almost killed yourself to get to me?” He asked, incredulous. No, that couldn’t be the reason. Jaskier had misheard, or he was asleep and dreaming- 

“Didn’t mean to let it get that bad.” Geralt gruffed, shaking his head. “You make me stupid, it seems.”

Jaskier bristled. The anger he’d felt suddenly ignited.

“ _I_ make you stupid?” He snapped, sorely tempted to slap the Witcher again, moving to stand. “How, exactly, do I make you stupid, Geralt? You were the one that decided to fight a leshen without potions, _you_ decided to ride without taking them _after_ , when you were injured. How dare you fucking blame me for-”

“I’m not!” Geralt quickly interjected, shoulders slumping. Jaskier halted his rant. “I didn’t mean- I’m not good with words like you, but I’m not blaming you, Jaskier, I never should have. I’m sorry.” 

“What did you mean, then?” With the wind taken out of his sails, Jaskier settled back onto the ground. 

“I mean-” Geralt stopped, ran a hand over his face, gave a pained grown. “You- when I think about you, you take up all of my mind. Every thought, every- every _instinct_. Everything focuses on you. I can’t focus on anything else, I can’t- I don’t know how to explain it.

So when I set out to find you, I couldn’t- I just. Needed to find you. I had to.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?” Jaskier quietly asked, despite fearing the answer. Hope bloomed in his chest suddenly, unwelcome, yet so, so warm. “Why are you here?”

“Because I missed you.” It was like a confession, whispered into the darkness of night. “I couldn’t _not_ miss you. Traveling without you was- I’d never realized how much better you make my life. How much better you make me. I needed you back.”

Jaskier shook his head, swallowed, curled his fingers into his palms until the nails bit at his flesh. This had to be a dream. There was no other explanation. He was asleep in his bed, trapped in a dream that, come morning, would be a nightmare.

“You don’t mean that.” Jaskier muttered, trembling. “You never- not once, in all those years did you even let on you cared about me. All you did was push me away, insult me. Why would you suddenly need me.”

“Not sudden at all.” Geralt hummed, reaching out to place a large hand against the bards palm, calloused thumb brushing away his tears. “Never admitted it. Not to myself, or anyone else. I thought, if I just ignored it, denied it; eventually, those feelings would fade. It was better that way. I truly believed that. Until I lost you. I couldn’t bare to lose you.” 

J askier couldn’t take it. He wailed, cried out his pain, his fear. Hearing all the words he’d wanted to hear and suddenly unable to bare it. He practically crawled into the bed, shaking so hard it shook with him, burying his face against Geralts neck as he wept. 

Dream or not, he couldn’t deny himself the contact, the  _comfort_ . Geralt was warm and solid under his hands, holding him tightly against his broad chest. Whispering words Jaskier couldn’t make out and didn’t want to grasp. 

He was so fucking  _tired_ . 

C radled by Geralts arms, Jaskier sent a single plea towards the heavens. 

_Please let this be real._

* * *

Jaskier woke to quiet giggling.

“The other one snores too!” Jochim crowed, once he saw Jaskier move. “Uncle Julian! Good morning!”

“Good morning!” Ryck squealed, clambering onto the bed, seating himself on the bards stomach. “Its time for food! You’ve been asleep _forever_!”

A dream. Of course it was a dream. 

Jaskier shook his head, fully expecting to open his eyes and find his bed empty, when-

“Good morning, Julian.” Geralt rumbled into his ear. Jaskier turned his head to the side so fast it hurt. 

Geralt was here, beside him. One hand resting on the mattress, but the other; the other stroked gently against the bards cheek. 

It hadn’t been a dream. 

Geralt was here. He was still here. 

“..Good morning, Geralt.” Jaskier breathed. 

* * *

A year later, Jaskier was just where he’d been the year before. Helping Achim bring in the harvest. Having dinner with his family. Aching in all the places he’d ached before. So much had remained the same. Yet everything had changed.

“Come to bed.” Geralt purred, beckoning the bard closer. Jaskier chuckled. 

“I’m not sure I’m up to anything strenuous, dear heart.” He said, apologetic. Geralt didn’t tire as the humans did. Worked harder than any of them, when he wasn’t hunting monsters in the area. Came home in the evening with energy to spare.

“Then let me hold you while you sleep.” Geralt rumbled, scooting over to make space for his human. “I’ll wake you nicely in the morning.”

“I look forward to it.” Jaskier gave a pleased sigh as he curled up against his Witcher.

Life was good. 


End file.
